


Changing Rooms

by Phosfate



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007)
Genre: Bon Cop Bad Cop - Freeform, Furniture, M/M, Quentin Tarantino - Freeform, elk, movies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-29
Updated: 2007-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:24:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosfate/pseuds/Phosfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We could always just start with <i>Volume 2."</i> "That would be cheating."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Rooms

**Author's Note:**

> Gyps and joan and one of the prairies wanted specifically Nicholas/Danny. C&C always welcome -- I've lost all sense of good and bad, possibly from the ibuprofin.

**TITLE:** Changing Rooms  
 **FANDOM:** _Hot Fuzz_  
 **AUTHOR:** annlarimer  
 **WORD COUNT:** 2,500ish  
 **RATING:** I have no idea. Um...PG-13.  
 **SUMMARY:** "We could always just start with _Volume 2."_ "That would be cheating."  
 **WARNINGS:** American spelling  
 **NOTES:** Gyps and joan and one of the prairies wanted specifically Nicholas/Danny. C &C always welcome -- I've lost all sense of good and bad, possibly from the ibuprofin.  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Obviously not mine.  
 **ARCHIVE:** Please ask first.

 **Changing Rooms**

  
 **The Bride Versus O-ren Ishii**

It's not an easy thing for an action film fan to admit, but Tarantino wasn't Danny Butterman's favorite. The endless streams of profanity were pure poetry, of course, but there were never enough cops. _Kill Bill_ had all of two, and they mainly stood over deadish Uma Thurman, drawling.

But the best part of a movie isn't always the movie. Watching Nicholas Angel watch _Kill Bill_ was something else entirely. It turned out (who would have guessed?) that arterial spray -- something Mr Tarantino provided here in spades -- made him laugh like a demented howler monkey, and for Danny Butterman, this was pure entertainment. Sophie Fatale losing her arm to Uma's Hattori Hanzo sword could make Angel roll clean off the couch. He was always sound asleep by the time Uma got an arseful of sedative and a Texas funeral, but one learns to put up with these things.

This particular evening, however, was different. Angel got up from the sofa as soon as the end credits of _Volume 1_ started to roll, and was currently alternating between wandering around Danny's sitting room and staring out the window. At the moon. Mooning, in fact.

No surprise to Danny. His Butterman-sense had been tingling for days. Something was up. He'd seen Nicholas go from normal -- for him -- to cranky, to wound tighter than a Betamax cassette.

For much of the week, Danny had imagined Nicholas with a little cartoon devil on one shoulder and a little cartoon angel on the other, engaged in heated debate. They'd spent a few days arguing, gone on to beat the crap out of each other with cricket bats, thoroughly exhausted themselves, and finally abandoned their perches and fucked off to the pub, leaving Nicholas guideless. (Danny had plans to immortalize them in his next flipbook. The angel would fling its halo like Xena's chakram, the devil spin its pitchfork to fend off the projectile. First, of course, he had to finish his latest, _Cowboy Versus Dinosaur.)_

It wasn't a return to Angel's old can't-find-the-off-switch thing. He'd got over that ages ago, with the aid of infusions of alcohol and processed sugar, a few dozen popcorn films, and a single day of glorious mayhem that was unlike anything the town of Sandford, Gloucestershire had seen since the locals had left off torching Protestants in the square.

This was something new. Well, not altogether. Danny was a patient man, and a hopeful one. And while certain things had been blindingly obvious to him from the beginning, he understood that, when it came to certain things, Nicholas Angel was slower and thicker than expired Nutella. That was fine with Danny. He was already having the best time of his life, and Nicholas would catch up on his own.

The DVD popped out of its drawer, and Nicholas peered at Danny from behind the curtains. "Do you think it could snow?"

Danny laughed. "Naw. It's October. What in heck's wrong with you?"

Angel started pacing. This didn't work at all well, considering the number of cardboard boxes in the house, but you had to give him credit for trying. "Nothing. I don't know. Nothing."

"Did somebody give you coffee?"

Hands jammed in pockets. "No."

"Was it that thing yesterday, with the cat and--"

Big step over a footstool. "No."

"'Cause that was really horrible, and--"

Glare at the window. "No."

"Was it when Andy set off the fire alarm?"

Crossed arms. Fierce interest in the cover of an old _2000 A.D._ "No."

"What is it, then?"

Look at the ceiling. "No."

"Ah...kay." Losing signal. Time to bring out the big gun: the question that, once asked, always had to be answered, and truthfully. "What you thinking?"

Angel glared at him for a long moment. Finally he said, "I'm happy." He said it in the same tone one might use to say, "Some bastard fuck scratched my car," or "They've raised the rent again."

Danny blinked. This really was new. "That's a terrible shame."

Drum fingers on the television. "It's _freaking me the fuck out."_

Danny was grinning now. He couldn't help it.

Examine empty crisp packet. _"And_ it's your fault."

Honestly, Danny didn't mean to laugh. It just slipped out.

And finally, glare at Danny. "Look at you! You're doing it right now!"

"I ain't doing nothing!" He would've held up a BUTTERMAN IS INNOCENT sign if he'd had one.

"Bollocks. You sit there being all fucking good-natured and kind and loyal and..."

Ohh. Here we go. Houston, we have liftoff. Yippee, ki, and yay. "Brave?" Danny offered. "Trustworthy? Handsome?" He'd never been a Scout, but had a vague idea of what was on the list.

"Yes."

"Affectionate?"

"Bastard." Nicholas returned to his usual place on the sofa, put his head in his hands, and scowled.

Danny watched him for a moment. Poor fucker. Clearly mercy was called for. "The world ain't gonna come apart, you know."

Nicholas' eyes met his, and, God bless him, there was real fear there. "You can't prove that."

"'Course I can. Can do it right now."

"No. No." After a moment, Nicholas straightened, and put on his lock-and-load face. "This is something I have to do myself."

There was a pause of -- by Danny's reckoning -- two or three years' duration. Then Nicholas leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. Geronimo.

It was brief, awkward (what with all the noses and foreheads), and the timing was all wrong. And it was like being struck by Technicolor lightning.

The little hairs on the back of Danny's neck stood up, tossed their hats in the air, and were doing some sort of Western barn dance. It was also possible that he was having a heart attack. Ah, well, he thought, what can you do?

"Did it come apart?" Nicholas' voice brought him back to reality, or whatever this was. They both looked round carefully. Still, as nearly as could be determined from the confines of Danny's sitting room, there.

Danny could feel a massive, goofy smile creeping across his face. "Keh," he said brightly. It was all he could manage.

"And you were worried," Nicholas chided. "You really need to--"

You're talking why are you talking stop talking. Danny held up a silencing finger, and found his voice once more. "Hang on. I will give you..." he rummaged in a pocket with the other hand, and after a moment produced a few coins. "50p if you do that again."

Nicholas considered this. "Fifty, you say?"

Danny nodded. "Buttermans don't deal in no chump change, man."

"That's half a Cornetto."

"It is."

Nicholas took the money and pocketed it. "Yeah, all right."

The second time, along with lightning, Danny got grainy stock footage of fireworks, and a tiny marching band playing an oom-pah version of "Jerusalem." Wicked.

He stopped keeping track at three. Much too busy with matters of great importance that required his full attention.

  
 **Humans Versus Furniture**

Danny's sofa had given years of loyal service, but this sort of thing was outside its experience. Cushions that had spent nearly a decade offering nothing but television support were suddenly expected to deal with multiple shifting weights, and made concave where once they had been convex. Distressed, they worked their way out of their familiar places, seeking shelter against the back, or in their panic, breaking for the floor and freedom.

At least that was how Danny always thought of it afterwards.

One cushion nearly made it, primed for a suicide leap onto the carpet. Unfortunately, it was occupied by Nicholas Angel, who, distracted, somehow managed to make the poor thing tilt like a seesaw, then overbalanced. The cushion went up, and Angel went down.

Nicholas' yelp of surprise was cut short as he cracked his head on the corner of coffee table, rattling dishes and cans.

"Nicholas!" Danny practically vaulted over the table, no small feat since he generally tripped over it at least once a week, and was at Angel's side. "That sounded like it hurt."

For a moment, the nearest thing to speech Nicholas could manage was a tiny, high-pitched shriek of the sort Klaus Nomi might have made had he been born a small white mouse. (Which he very well might have been. Prove he wasn't.)  
Then he found his voice: "Second most painful! Second most painful!"

"It's okay. It's okay. Let's have a look." He peeled Nicholas' hands back a tad. The impact had left a hole that didn't look anything like as bad as it surely felt. "Jesus, is that brain?"

 _"What?"_

"Sucker." Danny produced a paper napkin from somewhere, hopefully not the remnants of takeaway that littered the table, and slipped it under Angel's hands. "Here. Here. Hold this there while I get something for it."

Nicholas held it in place with an affirmative squeak.

"Sorry it's not mum spit." Danny trotted off to the bathroom and began rummaging in the cabinet.

"You what?"

"Mum spit," he called. "You know. The universal..."

"Panacea?"

"I'm out of sting-y red stuff."

"Good. That shit hurts."

Danny returned with a small, floppy object. "You see me what?"

"Panacea. It's Greek for...mum spit."

Danny crouched next to him. "Got a plaster."

"That better not have Bob the Builder on it."

"Nah. Boobahs."

"What in God's name is a Boohbah?"

"Boy, you're gonna have a lump. They're like Teletubbies. Only really gay."

"Of course. What are you doing? Stop pulling!"

"Can't get enough skin to stick. Careful when you pull this off."

"Don't hit!"

"I ain't hitting, I'm patting the sticky bit down. Stop being a baby."

"I'm _not_ being a baby!"

"All done. I don't know how you stay alive." Somehow they'd maneuvered into a two-person knot. It was difficult to mind this.

"I -- did you just kiss my head?"

"Tradition, man."

"I meant," Angel said patiently, "that it was the wrong bit of my head."

"Oh. _Ohhhhh!"_

Nicholas moved in for another go. Danny had the presence of mind to stick an arm out and shove the table out of the way. There was a clatter as empty beer cans hit the floor.

"What was--"

"Saving your life again."

"Good man."

"Why are you talk _mrf?"_

This time they managed to avoid injury, though their enthusiasm claimed the life of a battery-less television remote, and ground a HobNob into the carpet. Neither of them noticed.

Life being what it is, that was when both their mobiles rang. (Angel's rang; Danny's played a tweety version of "Live and Let Die.")

"Aghfuckissastation," said Danny.

Nicholas Angel finally demonstrated he had, in fact, watched too many American films: "Son of a _bitch!"_

  
 **Cats Versus Milk Versus Elk Versus Box Turtles**

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh."

Danny fervently hoped Nicholas' groan was one of pleasure, and not one of Hey, I found the poisoned stakes.

"It's _huge!"_

"You're not the first to say that," said Danny modestly.

"It's like a football pitch with pillows." Nicholas flung his arms out and found he couldn't touch both sides of the bed. He glanced sideways at the pattern on the duvet. "What are these? Elk?"

"Reindeer. Maybe moose. Es. Mooses. Got it off Mr. Merchant. Floor model. Dead cheap."

"As it were. This has been in here the whole time, and we've been sleeping on the sofa."

"You don't like the sofa?"

"On the contrary, I'm very fond of the sofa. I will not hear a word against the sofa."

"Good. And it's your own fault for being thick."

"I have only myself to blame," Angel agreed.

"What's it like, being thick? Watch out." He flopped backwards onto the bed, reasonably certain that Nicholas would dodge. This made his back and feet happy, though it probably alarmed the mooses. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh."

"Told you."

They'd been most of the night out on the main road, then done their usual shift. Neither had slept in what felt like ages. "How was that for a day?"

Angel shook his head. "What a _mess."_

"I didn't think there was that much milk in the whole world. Or that many cats in the county."

Nicholas linked his arm through Danny's and pulled himself closer. "I didn't think it would freeze that quickly."

"You got snow after all. Sort of. I hope the cows don't find out. They'd be very depressed. All that work..."

Nicholas snorted.

"What? Cows are sensitive."

"Of course they are."

"They have sensitive eyes." Danny made a mental note. Clearly Nicholas needed more cow time.

"I...will certainly concede that they are nature's most rectangular animal."

There was quiet for a moment. Then Danny said, "What about the box turtle?"

Angel's expression became one of pure pain. "I'm terribly sorry. This has all been lovely, but I'm afraid that I have to kill you now."

Danny grinned. "Aww, I'm on your death list."

"The very top. Once my Hattori Hanzo sword is finished."

"I hear the waitlist is wicked long."

"I'll just have to keep an eye on you until then."

"Yay."

"Indeedy yay." Nicholas looked thoughtful. "One day, I will stay awake long enough to find out whether or not Uma actually kills Bill."

"She—"

"Don't tell me!"

Danny nodded, and mimed locking his lips and tossing the key. "We could always just start with _Volume 2."_

Nicholas looked appalled. "That would be cheating."

"Oh, well, can't have that."

"Mind you, it might take a while…"

"I got nothing else planned."

"Years."

"Got years. Got lots." Suddenly he sat up. "Hang on, don't got the post." The Royal Mail was Danny's Kryptonite, and his Scooby Snacks. He loved mail like Saxon loved Bonios, and had every bit as much difficulty putting it out of his mind once it got in.

"Aghlkay." Nicholas kicked off his shoes and bounced a little.

Danny returned a minute later, opening a bubble envelope with his teeth. "Ta-daaa! _Bon Cop Bad Cop._ I ordered it ages ago, and oh bollocks."

Angel was sound asleep, with soft nasal whuffle.

"Christ, what does a fella have to do to get rid of 50p around here?" Danny raised his eyes to the ceiling with a what-can-you-do expression. Ah well. The only creatures in casa Butterman doing any courting tonight would be the insomniac bats and owls.

He considered wrapping Nicholas up in the duvet like an elk-y Swiss roll. But Danny was ready to nod off himself, and that sort of thing isn't any fun if you're asleep when you do it.

He put the post on the dresser and went to find them some more blankets. The mooses would just have to get squished.

  
Thanks to:

[](http://cybertardis.livejournal.com/profile)[ **cybertardis**](http://cybertardis.livejournal.com/) ("Oh, there's some _really_ good arterial spray") for several years' viewings of _Volume 1._  
[](http://crantz.livejournal.com/profile)[ **crantz**](http://crantz.livejournal.com/) ("Boobahs scare the shit out of me") for _Bon Cop, Bad Cop,_ fielding lines at random, and asking what a Cornetto costs.  
[](http://gkkstitch.livejournal.com/profile)[ **gkkstitch**](http://gkkstitch.livejournal.com/) ("First you gotta stretch it") for a grand night out at the State Theater.


End file.
